


Dances with Horses

by wings128



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Kiss, First Time, Horses, M/M, Post Series, Rimming, Tuxedos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:45:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3877645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wings128/pseuds/wings128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronon's waited long enough...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dances with Horses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JJ1564](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJ1564/gifts).



> Who bought me in the fandomaid Nepal Earthquake Fundraiser.
> 
> [](http://s1343.photobucket.com/user/Wings128/media/Art/r12wings128deepthroatwinner_zpsacdgscvy.png.html)

The moment John’s attention drifted from the Duchess’s conversation to the turkey wobble of her throat, a feminine hand slipped into the crook of his elbow. 

“Millicent, dearest, do excuse the interruption.” John turned to his saviour. It had been a long time since he’d heard her voice. “There is someone Colonel Sheppard simply must meet.”

“Not at all, Rebecca dear, not at all.” Millicent, Duchess of Kensington, waved a beringed hand dismissively as if John had been the one boring her to tears. “Run along, mingle with other young folk, do.”

“Becca?” John asked, grateful for the speed with which she had bartered his release, and stumbled a step before matching the tall blonde’s stride.

“Do hurry up, Johnny!” Becca scolded, slender frame elegant in a sheath of liquid cream, tugging on the arm she still held as she led them from the crowded ballroom, and out into the cool of the evening.

It wasn’t until Becca turned them toward the stables that John realised he hadn’t seen Ronon since the Duchess had cornered him half an hour ago. John’s gut knotted guiltily. Ronon had only come because John had asked him. He still wasn’t clear on how he and Ronon attending a Sheppard Foundation fundraiser helped the Stargate Program, but if there was a Satedan shaped problem...

Becca seemed more excited, than anxious or offended, so maybe whatever scrape Ronon had gotten himself into could be easily fixed.

Secure in the knowledge that John was following with all due haste, Becca had dropped her hold on him in favour of kicking off her heels, gathering up her skirt and bounding to join the five other women at the lunging yard’s fence. John huffed the long-suffering sigh of all Rebecca Mornay’s wealthy escorts, and stooped to pick up the diamond-strapped Jimmy Choo’s, before continuing on.

Jett was loose. His ebony coat etched with the moon’s silver as sleek muscles rippled with each turn; each step in the dance he and Ronon shared.

“Fuck!” John gasped, his dick suddenly and painfully hard at the sight. Ronon with black dress shirt open and caught in the momentum of his body. John stared; hungered to touch each flex of ab, twist of hips, and stretch of honeyed flank.

Ronon was completely unaware of his audience; knew only the spirit of the animal before him. It was that knowledge more than anything that drew people to him. Well, women at least. John thought with an amused smirk tugging at his mouth, as he leaned into the top rail beside Becca and passed over her shoes.

“If he wasn’t already yours, Johnny,” Becca whispered close, her breath warm and intimate on John’s cheek. “I should have him warming my bed inside an hour.”

“An hour?” John teased, falling easily into their childhood banter as he tucked a curl back behind her ear. “Why so long, sweetheart, are you losing your touch?”

She batted his hand away, a tinkle of musical laughter dancing on the still air. “Dearest, you are shocking!” John smirked, chalking up the rare win.

“Although…” He huffed a laugh when Becca continued, never one to let something go once she had the bit between her teeth. “…even if that were the case, it is clear you have not lost yours.”

John felt heat flood him; his heartbeat heavy in his cock, a flush of colour bright across his cheekbones. He looked over to where Ronon moved, graceful for a man of his height, large hand splayed as he hugged into the arch of Jett’s neck. Brown eyes fixed on John, gaze never wavering, Ronon’s need open and urgent for all to see. It was all John could do to grip the rail and stay on his feet.

They were silent for a while, John aware of Becca’s eyes on him as he watched Ronon and Jett dance. Nothing he could do would stop his childhood friend from making her own assumptions. 

John braced when he heard Becca’s quiet gasp, her touch to his bicep making him look at her. “You have not taken him!”

John blushed hard and ducked his head, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh…” he croaked, looked up at her from under quirked brow. “…seems I’ve lost my touch after all.”

Becca leaned closer into his side and slid an arm around his hunched shoulders. The hiss was audible even over the thud and shuffle of Jett’s hooves in the mulch. John looked up to see the sudden tension in Ronon’s shoulders.

“Poor Johnny, you are once again mistaken.” John bristled under her teasing, reminding him of times he’d rather forget, yet unable to resist rising to her bait. “That man is, and always will be, yours. And if I am right, which let’s be honest, I always am; he has waited long enough for you to man up.” 

John shrugged her arm off. Annoyed at hearing the truth of the past six years spoken so plainly by someone he hadn’t seen since he’d enlisted.

He’d bent over and slipped between the railings before he had known he was moving. The hurried rustle of silks and satins, whispers and giggles, fading away as Becca ushered her friends back to the party. Leaving Jett with two men who had so much unspoken between them.

John stroked Jett’s back, patted his hip to get him to move over. The horse turned, blew an approving snort into the random spikes of his master’s hair, and trotted to the side rail.

Ronon stood motionless, breathing easy despite his earlier exertions; dreads loose and shirt pulled completely free of the dress pants they’d bought him that morning.

It would be easy enough for John to shove it free. Leave Ronon bare to his trim waist. All that smooth skin over hard muscle available for John to touch, to suckle, to lick. John lunged, closed the gap between them. Ronon’s name a plea caught in his throat. Ronon stepped up, his hips locked with John’s, their cocks crushed together as Ronon’s arms wrapped John tight and close. 

John tipped his chin up, hands angling Ronon’s face, tugging the man down to meet him. The kiss was hot, clumsy with hunger and newness. Ronon opened to the swipe of John’s tongue on surprisingly soft lips, and heat poured into John; turned his knees to jello. He deepened their kiss, delved further into Ronon’s mouth, drowning the big man’s moans with a need finally set free.

Ronon was tugging at John’s tie, yanking impatiently at shirt buttons too miniscule for his fingers. John tore his mouth free; the need for oxygen overpowering his need for Ronon’s taste. 

“Rip it!” He ordered, the sound of Ronon’s frustration turning John on more than he believed possible. “Don’t care, just, get it off!”

The air was frigid against the heat Ronon was stoking under John’s skin. Wake of ice left in the trail of Ronon’s touch.

“Sheppard.” Ronon growled, sound echoing into John’s bones as Ronon nuzzled the hollow of John’s throat; suckling and breathing deep of John’s scent till John was clutching unyielding biceps in an effort to stay on his feet.

“John.” He pleaded. “Call me, John.”

He arched his neck, offered all of himself, and Ronon worked his hot mouth with swipes of tongue and sharp nips of perfect teeth, to the spot behind John’s ear.

“John.” Ronon rumbled, deep like a lion’s purr, and John did sag. A whimper escaping as Ronon’s embrace tightened. Kept John against him, their hips locked. No space between. “John.”

“Awww fuck, Ronon!” John whispered, the fire within him having scorched his voice. He wanted Ronon naked. He wanted to be buried inside this man; his cock so deep, no one would ever be able to tell where either of them began.

“Yes!” Ronon breathed into John’s softly parted mouth as he lowered them down.

John kissed back, revelling in being able to finally have this. But not here. He dug his fingers into the muscular shoulders beneath his touch to get Ronon’s attention. Tried to form words with a sex-drugged mind. 

“Rononmmmmmm…” Ronon was still kissing; his need for John’s mouth outranking his lungs’ demands for air. “…mmmmmmmRonon.”

Ronon growled in frustration when John pulled away again. “What now, John?”

And damn if hearing Ronon say his name like that would ever stop being unbelievably hot!

“Not here.” John protested, gestured behind Ronon to the open stable doors. John let out a startled oomph as Ronon boosted him off his feet and strode into the dark interior. Stopped to allow his eyes to adjust, uncertain as to what John wanted.

“Hey Chewie, you can put me down now.” John chuckled, the momentary lull allowing him to think more clearly. “This way.”

He led Ronon forward, the trust they shared implicit in their linked hands; John’s heart swelling when Ronon brushed the side of John’s thumb with his own.

“Up here.” John managed two rungs of the hayloft ladder before Ronon grabbed his hips, halting his progress by fumbling one handed for John’s belt and zipper.

John flushed, face burning with embarrassment and the knowledge of what Ronon wanted, as he felt his tux pants sliding down over the curve of his ass. Cool air and rough callouses on sensitive skin. 

“Spread your legs.” Ronon murmured, voice a dark thrill along John’s spine as those fucking huge hands opened his cheeks, exposing his hole for Ronon to see.

“Fuck!” Ronon groaned, more exhalation than sound. John shivered and pushed back, offered himself to Ronon. “Want to taste you.”

And yeah, John wanted that too. He wanted Ronon’s mouth on him more than he wanted his next breath. John pushed his ass out in the rudest invitation he’d ever offered. He gripped the rung in front of him, and shifted his feet as far as they’d go; trapped in the puddle of cloth around his ankles. John pictured how he must look to Ronon; ass right there at eye level. Ronon able to lay hands on him and just, lean, in.

But Ronon wasn’t doing anything; and John was shaking with need, trying to ignore the growing tingle of unease. 

Just when John was going to call it off, Ronon steadied him with a hand at the small of his back; soothed a thumb over the knobs of his spine. “Easy, John.”

The sound of his name melted John’s tension along with his bones, and he dug harder into the wood beneath his palms.

“Please Ronon.” John’d be embarrassed later, right now all he cared about was having Ronon’s mouth on him. “Please.”

Ronon didn’t answer, only spread John wide; fingertips gentle as they made room for Ronon’s mouth.

The first touch was tender. A soft lap over crinkled pink; gentle twirl and dip, then away. John shivered, bit off a moan and chased the elusive sensation. Ronon was making him crazy. Little teasing flutters, scrape of teeth soothed by slick fingertips that prodded until they slipped inside and stroked him to keening. Mouth a soft O of pleasure, while his cock bounced against his belly in time with Ronon’s rhythm. 

Nothing had felt this good in years. John was an idiot. Ronon was an idiot for letting John keep them from all…this! Ronon bit his cheek and held before releasing his teeth to kiss the sting away. John choked a laugh. Ronon obviously agreed.

John lost his grip on the rung, sweat pouring off him as he climbed higher, lean body taut as he fell back into Ronon. Those long talented fingers plunging deep and stroking mercilessly. He howled with the suddenness of his pleasure, and Ronon ploughed him harder. Three fingers stretching within.

“More!” John barked, almost bent in half with the effort to get more of Ronon. His fingers, his tongue, his teeth, his cock. Oh GOD! John could only imagine how Ronon’s cock would feel inside him.

He’d planned to take Ronon up into the hayloft above, lay him back on their shirts and taste every part of Ronon before fucking him. He wanted to fuck Ronon until he came all over both their chests; John’s name the only sound on Ronon’s lips.

But John was nothing if not flexible. Pegasus had taught him that lesson often enough. Now John just wanted Ronon inside him. And if that meant right here on this ladder…John was more than okay with that.

He felt Ronon’s warmth surround him. Heard the ladder creak in protest as the man he’d been in love with since Ronon had taken out seven of John’s men in Atlantis’ gym, stepped up a rung behind him.

“This what you want, John?”

John nearly swallowed his tongue when he felt the weight of Ronon’s cock nudging his gaping hole. “Only for the last six years, buddy.”

And fuck, Ronon was there. At his back, pushing in. The working Ronon had given him barely enough for the thick girth sliding past his rim; filling him without reprieve. John bit his lip, breathed into it, and gripped the rung tight as he pushed back. The scrape of wiry pubes against his ass, an extra zing of sensation as Ronon forced his last inch home and held fast.

John dropped his head, brow on the backs of his hands, and breathed through the fullness invading him. It’d been too long to remember how this felt. Ronon’s hands were on his hips, holding a squeeze that emphasised the pressure within. John felt his muscles pulse along Ronon’s length; felt his own cock answer with a throb and a drool of precome down its eager shaft.

Ronon was mouthing John’s nape, gentle coaxing kisses that spoke to John’s heart where it pounded in his chest. 

“You okay?” Ronon whispered against the shell of John’s left ear. The rest of his muscular body held rigid. Waiting.

“Yeah, more than.” John managed, his throat dry with anticipation, and turned to bestow a reassuring kiss.

“RONON!” John couldn’t help the bellow; didn’t care about being overheard. Having this with Ronon was all John had wanted and nothing would stop him enjoying it. “OhfuckyesRonon!”

He tried to clutch at him when Ronon pulled out. The emptiness was too much to bear for the short time it took Ronon to thrust back in; to fill him over and again. Ronon bowed over him, large hands on the rung above John’s as powerful hips fucked deep into John. The slap of flesh, creak of wood, and the ragged huff of breath at his neck wrapped John in a haze of satisfaction where only he and Ronon belonged.

He reached a hand down, desperate to ease the ache in his neglected cock; only to have Ronon growl in warning and bite into his shoulder blade. John whimpered, too far gone to care how he sounded, and surged back into Ronon’s increasingly ragged drives. Ronon settled his weight on John, kept him pinned. The feeling was so fucking perfect that John’s orgasm coiled like a live wire low in his spine, arcing through his gut and up his shaft. 

John came, jetting over his belly and the barn floor beneath them. His ass clutching and flexing around the pistoning flesh inside him, incoherent blissful moans falling from his lips.

He was shaking with his aftershocks, little thrills of pleasure that sparked in his nerves as he tried to keep his grip while Ronon came; filled John with liquid heat. An arm tight around his hips, hauling him back, keeping them connected. It felt amazing, and John squirmed into it. Ronon’s grip tightened as he drove deep, a brush over John’s sweet spot to make him shudder. John grinned into his shoulder. “Easy Chewie, not goin’ anywhere.”

Ronon trembled around him, and yeah, John could get used to that. He uncurled one hand from the rung to twine it with Ronon’s and turned to receive a kiss. His lover’s eyes soft, and so goddamn happy, John couldn’t help the affectionate nudge he gave Ronon’s chin before wriggling meaningfully.

“All right, ride’s over.” He huffed. “Can’t feel my legs.”

“Mmmmmm…” John felt the rumble through Ronon’s chest and into his own. “You sure?”

John couldn’t help the way he pushed back, worn sensitive hole pursing around the half hard shaft still skewering it.

“Ah, yeah,” He swallowed hard, the motion echoing down to his ass where Ronon was grinding in answer to John’s push. “I’m thinking loft, or bed.”

“If you can think, then I haven’t done this right.” Ronon chuckled, his dreads falling around them both as he suckled kisses into John’s arched neck.

“No complaints, here.” John laughed. “Let’s hope you can say the same.”

Ronon pulled free then, catching John’s gasp with his mouth; the taste of it sweet on his tongue as he fingered his come back inside John. Circled the puffy rim as John shamelessly chased Ronon’s touch.

“Get up there,” Ronon ordered, administering a sharp slap to one sweetly curved orb. “And we’ll find out.”

John yelped, the echo of the sting and the sooth of Ronon’s hand making him grin as he climbed into the loft, and turned to pull Ronon down into his arms.


End file.
